


Dark and Light

by NorthernWall



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Day One: Doubt/Trust, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, LivMiles Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernWall/pseuds/NorthernWall
Summary: “I thought Amestris had taken care of their vermin problem.”A captured Major Miles will have his faith in his beloved general tested and, if the Drachmans have their way, broken.





	Dark and Light

**Author's Note:**

> Happy reading!

_Day One_

“I thought Amestris had taken care of their vermin problem.”

Miles spat in the face of the Drachman guard, an impressive feat from his place sprawled on the disgusting cell floor. He received a boot in the small of his back from the man’s partner, but the first guard laughed.

“Wild animals will act out, won’t they?” He leaned down and snatched up the dark glasses that had fallen off Miles’ face on impact with the concrete floor. With a calculatingly cruel sneer, he snapped them in half.

“What will you do with him, Sir?” Another asked from the doorway, “he can’t know anything of value can he? Not a dirty-blooded-”

“Of course he can, and even if he is too stupid to know it, he’ll be of great value to us.” Still smiling darkly, the Drachman officer leaned in close again--the hands pressing Miles into the ground tightened their hold--and switched to Amestrian. “The lady general won’t send anyone for you, will she? To an Amestrian like her, you must be the dirt beneath her boots.”

Miles spat again, and felt a flare of satisfaction when blood from his dislodged tooth covered the guard’s paunchy face. The satisfaction faded when the butt of a gun cracked him across the temple. He groaned as the world spun and then faded from focus.

_Day Four_

“You think you’re tough don’t you?”

Miles didn’t answer; his face was swollen, his split lip had filled his mouth with blood, and repeated heavy blows to his stomach and ribcage had rendered him out of breath.

The guard snorted, “you’re pathetic. Why don’t you just give up?”

“You’re all alone here,” another said coldly, “no one will know if you just help us out. They’ve already written you off as dead!” He leaned down, “they’re probably glad to be rid of you. Do you think they liked having your unnatural red eyes all over the place? Your desert stink? Admit it, they hated you!” He grabbed a handful of Miles hair and jerked his head back, “admit it! They’re laughing their asses off, glad to be rid of you!” He shook Miles like a rag doll. “Admit it!”

“Never!” Miles managed around the pain and mouthful of blood, scalp feeling like it would be ripped open, eyes watering.

The guard dropped him in disgust. “You just don’t get it, do you? No one is coming for you! That bitch at the Fort-” he stopped abruptly, eyes widening in realization at something in Miles’ face. He couldn’t imagine what, his face was a swollen mess of cuts and contusions. “Oho! You actually think that she will send someone for you!” He laughed uproariously.

Miles turned his face away, closing bruised and blood-crusted eyelids. In his mind’s eye, he saw her face, blue eyes inches from his own, her hands cupping his cheeks, cool against the flames of his blush. He had felt bare, exposed, under that gaze. Her full lips against his own had been a pleasant surprise, he’d been sure she’d find something to revile in his blood-red eyes. His shaking hands had settled on her hips and he’d returned the kiss with a kind of terrified optimism. Her eyes had fluttered shut then as she leaned into him and he remembered thinking Ishvala surely had a strange sense of humor.

_Day Seven_

It was a strange thing, being unbound, but unable to move. Miles watched the blood trickle down the sloped floor of the cell dully. They’d taken the “gentle” route for some time, convinced they would be able to turn him to their side. When they realized that he would not be easily swayed, the head guard had brought out a flail and the rest had passed in a haze of pain. He remembered hearing distant screaming, and only realizing it was himself when the guards mocked him.

His legs had given out and ropes binding him had wrenched his arms horribly, but they hadn’t stopped. Not until he blacked out, and maybe not even until after. He’d come to on the floor, struggling to make sense of the fire on his back and the raw ache in his throat. He’d swallowed experimentally a few times and found it didn’t get easier. He was fairly sure he didn’t have any skin left on his back at all, just raw mutilated muscles barely covering bloody bones.

Worst of all, once they’d guessed at the nature of his feelings for Olivier they’d taunted him, preying on every fear and worry and doubt they could imagine. Every cruel jeer and jibe stung, but none so much as their crude descriptions of the things they’d like to do to her if they could. They’d found his defensive rage even more amusing. How could someone like _him_ possibly consider himself _her_ equal?

_His hands were trembling. All he could do was stare at them numbly. His grandfather’s hometown had been decimated. His grandfather had refused to flee, and there was no question of his survival. He was cold, far colder than the freezing locker room could explain. Small fingers closed around his and he started. He jerked upright, glancing around, but the few men who shared the locker room were quietly shuffling out, some still shoving their uniforms on; Olivier had that effect on unprepared soldiers._

_She didn’t say anything, simply knelt before him, thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the backs of his hands. He slumped forward to rest his forehead against the top of her head. She brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed his fingers gently, one at a time._

_“I’m a monster.” She didn’t respond, and he continued, “how can I wear this uniform? My people are dying in the street like dogs, and I’m pretending to be better-”_

_She shifted at that, pushing his head up to gaze into his puffy red eyes, “you’re only human, dearest. Same as me. Even in these uniforms, while performing the most heinous acts, we’re only human.”_

_Day Twelve_

“Aren’t you ready to give up now?” Miles dimly recognized the voice as a young guard fairly low in the hierarchy, likely looking for a way to amuse himself, rather than actually out to get information.

“She’s never coming for you. She’s glad to be rid of you, you lovesick little mutt.” Another young guard, bored and in the mood for a little fun.

He wasn’t sure why they were bothering, a blow to the head earlier on had rendered their voices nothing more than distant echoes, and he was dizzy and disoriented. Which way was up? He wasn’t sure anymore. He’d been having hallucinations off and on, for which he blamed the lack of food and the fact he’d been given water only periodically.

“You know what I think?” Miles neither knew nor cared. “They set you up for this. You’re not a field soldier, so why were you out there, huh? Where was your backup?”

He’d been looking for a young cub, one of their own not returned from patrol. There’d been Drachman activity in the area, and they’d deemed a full search party too dangerous. He’d been a volunteer, one of three. They hadn’t found the cub and he worried about him constantly. He definitely didn’t tell them that.

“Maybe,” suggested the other, probably noticing Miles’ pain and misinterpreting it, “she found out about your little crush. Sent you out to be rid of you.”

Nothing could be further from the truth. She hadn’t wanted him to go, had been torn between the logical choice as his commander, and the emotional one as, well, his lover. She’d taken him aside and made him promise to return safe. He’d caught her in a kiss and assured he would. He’d never broken a promise to her before, and waves of guilt crashed over him.

“Oho! Look at that! You’ve touched a nerve!” Cruel laughter rang out, “what did you do, hmm? Sneak into the showers? Cop a feel?”

The other snickered, “did you jump her? I would’ve.”

“We all know you would have, Grisha.”

“I’m just saying, if I got my hands on that, eh-” he switched in Drachman, apparently unsure of the Amestrian wording, but made a pretty clear picture with his tone and a few crass gestures.

Miles snorted in disgust, earning himself another kick in the head. At least in the realms of his unconscious he could be with Olivier.

_Day Fourteen_

Something rumbled in the distance, thunder or a truck perhaps, and the building shook. Or was it just his visioning swimming? He neither knew nor cared. He watched boots stomping back and forth across the edge of his vision and closed his eyes. If they weren’t about to start with him, he didn’t care.

Shouting very near him had him opening his eyes slowly. There seemed to be fighting in the hall outside his cell. He turned slowly, trying to locate the door. There was a swarm of Drachman guards outside, and right in the center of them was his favorite a hallucination. A warrior angel, clothed in white, with a halo of golden hair flying around her as her sword struck again and again. He watched with mild interest as blood splattered, covering the walls, the floor, his very own angel. The bodies of his tormentors littered the floor.

The angel turned to him, and her face creased. She rushed toward him, and red, white, and gold blurred together until all he could see was a pair of deep blue eyes inches from his own.

“Miles!”

“You know my name?” He asked, bemused. His angel frowned, sliding an arm under his and trying to lift him.

“What? Nevermind, doesn’t matter. Can you stand? Miles?” His vision was blurring again and he flopped limply, “Come on, stay with me.” She was half carrying, half dragging him, “Come on! I didn’t come all this way for you to die on me now.”

“Wasss he-heaven nishe?” He was slurring his words around a mouthful of blood and phlegm, which oozed out onto the angel’s shoulder.

“I didn’t come from heaven.” She glanced at the phlegm, but ignored it, tightening her grip on him as his head lolled onto the now-filthy shoulder. “Come on, you can’t nap, yet.”

“Sh-shoon?”

“Yes, soon.” She turned away, “Buccaneer! Buccaneer, I need some help here!”

The angel had a bear. How strange, Miles mused, as he was hefted and swung over the bear’s shoulder. And then, finally, he slipped into blissful darkness.

_Day Sixteen_

He was cocooned in warmth. He opened heavy-lidded eyes slowly, and looked around. It was white everywhere, he frowned in puzzlement as his eyes scanned down the length of his body. It was covered in a white blanket and his arms were wrapped in bandages. Beside him, golden head pressed into the blankets, the angel was slumped over his bedside, shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.

“Olivier,” he recognized her for who she was now, and a smile split his aching face.

“Hmm?” She shifted sleepily, and then jolted upright. “Miles! You’re awake!” Her blue eyes were puffy and rimmed with dark circles, and she stared almost disbelievingly. She turned to call over her shoulder, “Doc! He’s awake!”

“You came for me.”

“It took too long.” Her eyes were teary, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he reached to stroke her head, but stopped when the movement sent jolts of pain through his bandaged hands. Right, they’d removed his fingernails. “It’s alright.”

“It isn’t. Central-”

“Central is always difficult, I don’t care about their opinions.”

“I-”

He smiled at her again, albeit tiredly, his small reservoir of strength already nearly used up, “I never doubted you, my love. And you came for me. Isn’t that enough?”

She opened her mouth, ready to object, but he cut off her efficiently, by simply falling back to sleep, trusting her to still be there when he next woke.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. At least it ended well?
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love and cherish all comments. :)


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